Downfall
by unholytrifecta
Summary: Seven stories of forgotten tributes. Seven deaths recorded in history. Seven sins that caused their downfall. Oneshot, complete.


**Author**: EtherealPhoenix  
><strong>Title<strong>: Downfall [Seven Deadly Sins]  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Seven stories of forgotten tributes. Seven deaths recorded in history. Seven sins that caused their downfall.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Suzanne Collins owns _The Hunger Games_, not me. But I do own my characters.

**Author's Note**: My take on the Seven Deadly Sins as applied to _The Hunger Games_. I just had an impulse to write about this, so here it is. Haha. All original characters, though only one is referred to by name.

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><p><strong>Downfall [Seven Deadly Sins]<strong>

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><p><strong>I.<strong> _Envy_

The bonds of a shared District are only so strong. The rules of the Hunger Games are concrete. There can only be one victor.

Sooner or later, one or both tributes must fall. Most districts separate immediately, appalled at the thought of witnessing the death of their neighbor, schoolmate, or relative. Or worse, being the cause of it.

Not this girl.

Her slim, knife-wielding hand drags across the throat of her sleeping district partner. His blood pours over her skin as he wakes in agony, betrayal all too evident in his horrified expression. The boy's eyes glaze over, and a tortured smile eases onto his former partner's face in the midst of darkness and death.

She knows with this action, she becomes one step closer to her goal. To claiming the one thing she desires to gain from the Hunger Games; the one thing that the two of them could never share, and thus must be taken from him.

Life.

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><p><strong>II.<strong> _Gluttony_

No one from a non-Career district has to worry about hoarding. They never get enough to begin with. They gulp down the rations of food they are given, and hope that it will fill them for a night.

Careers are pampered and insatiable. They are born that way and are further conditioned through the Capitol's support. They are showered with extravagant meals, and presented with a lifestyle fit for human trophies such as themselves.

The gong sounds. The bloodbath has begun.

The tributes dash off of their plates towards the Cornucopia. The female tribute from District 1 completely avoids the packages near her feet - opting for the best goods located nowhere else but inside of the massive artifact. She is one of the first to arrive, and immediately lunges for the weapons. She grabs a cluster of knives, thrusts them into a bag, and begins to gather food and water. _Five days' worth should be suitable, _she thinks methodically.

She isn't even aware she's being targeted until the sharp needle of a dart impales her neck, and her body begins to shut down from the poison.

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><p><strong>III. <strong>_Greed_

One of the promises that tributes hold on to in the arena is the wealth that comes with being a victor. No longer would they have to struggle to feed their families.

Some tributes do not have such a noble cause to fight for.

Of those tributes, some volunteer. Not to spare a life, but to advance their own.

Being a Career victor is not about the money. They don't need it, although it _is_ an added bonus.

Being a Career victor means earning honor and respect. The title means prime status, endless admiration, and even greater luxury than their current living conditions.

The District 4 girl has lived in the shadow of her older sister for as long as she can remember. She was not reaped. Instead, she volunteered with no hesitation. Her promise to return home was not fueled by love or optimism. It was fueled by the assurance that the public would carve her name in stone, and ink it in the history books.

As she is being savagely slashed by a reptile mutt, she detests that her time in the spotlight has ended so abruptly. She chose this fate in the hope that her legacy would be eternal.

Now she will fade, just as the others who perished before her. A five-second film clip will be the sole remnant of her sacrifice.

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><p><strong>IV. <strong>_Lust_

A blizzard rips through the arena. It's just another Gamemaker ploy, though it seems rather useless. It's only prolonging the Games.

Perhaps that _is_ the goal. Fifteen tributes died in the bloodbath; with the Cornucopia being placed on the peak of a mountain, there wasn't much room to flee. Several were shoved off of the slope, bones snapping and skulls fractured as they tumbled down the rocky mountainside. Others lost their footing while climbing down and suffered the same fate.

These two were fortunate. Two Careers - the male tribute from District 1, and the girl from District 4 - had escaped to a cave. Living in the favored districts had done them well; both were well-fed and attractive.

Their training scores were of typical Career quality, so their mentors were satisfied. They asked no questions, though the simplest investigation would have shown that the 'training' itself took place in deserted corridors with wandering hands and urgent lips. Any competent mentor would have noticed it. Any competent mentor would have advised against it.

Their mentors were not competent. And now they wait, just barely free from cameras and the public's prying eyes, the outside view being no more than white blurs among a vast gray sky. The Careers know the cameras are watching, but hope that the weather distorts the quality of the film.

Their lips mold together, their hands roam under layers of clothing. The Games are locked away in their minds, though the bitter wind serves as a blatant reminder. The boy sits up, content for the moment.

This is not love. He is consoled by that knowledge. They will not experience heartbreak, or a painful, emotional separation.

But he _does_ feel pain. And to his surprise, it is quite physical. He lets out a hacking cough, and blood sprays the cave wall in front of him.

The blade burns where it pierces the left side of his back, and he vows to never underestimate a metaphor again.

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><p><strong>V. <strong>_Pride_

The Careers set up camp around the Cornucopia, a usual tactic. They are surviving; thriving by Hunger Games standards. Food and weapons are readily at their disposal. They lounge around the sides of the large golden horn in all their immaculate glory, radiating confidence even when covered in leaves, dirt, and blood.

They never stray far - on the orders of the male tribute from District 2. Cyrus, he's called; tall, muscled, and intimidating - as a proper Career should be.

Resisting the inevitable can only last for so long. The Careers soon realize that there are necessary tasks that must be performed: scouting, inventory, and keeping track of the other tributes, among many others.

Cyrus is the first to take on a guard shift. He heads out into the nearby forest, a smug smile being the only farewell he gives to his allies. He strolls though the expanse of trees, head held high. He is confident that District 2 will have yet another victory under its belt by the end of these Games.

So when his foot is trapped in a snare, and a wire net is dropped on him from above, he is significantly surprised.

Even more so when the scrawny District 3 girl leaps from a tree and buries a spear in his stomach.

After all, he was at the top of the food chain. Why would he ever bother to look up?

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><p><strong>VI. <strong>_Sloth_

The arena is a desert this year. The Gamemakers have learned through prior Games that starvation does not make for a pleasurable viewing experience. They have strategically placed several mini-oases throughout the arena.

All the tributes have to do is survive long enough to reach one of them.

One such boy, from District 7, is not so lucky. True, he smuggled two water bottles and a package of dried fruit away from the Cornucopia. He even managed to escape with every limb intact.

But that was three days ago. The meager supply of food and water is gone. He drags his feet through the gritty sand. His knees buckle from exhaustion and he collapses, for the third time in an hour.

Not that he would be aware of the passing time. His only motivation is the burning ache in his throat and the painful spasms in his stomach.

As he crawls, clutching onto grains of sand that slip through his desperate fingers, that motivation fades.

He lifts his head, just barely. A glimpse of green is visible in the distance, but he has surrendered. He lowers his head to once again settle in the sand, indifferent to his now scorching cheek. It's too far. Maybe if he stays here, the others will die before him. He is motionless.

A shadow looms over him, and the boy is cool again. He hears the sound of a bowstring tensing as it is pulled back.

Just before the arrow strikes him in the skull, he is almost grateful.

…Almost.

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><p><strong>VII. <strong>_Wrath_

Her lanky partner was never built for physical combat. Neither was she. They were from District 8. Specializing in textiles serves little to no purpose in the battlefield, unless you include sewing up minor wounds. And that's if they even had access to thread.

She is shorter than most. She is weaker. All reason states that she wouldn't survive long. Nonetheless, when the brute from District 7 swings his axe and murders her district partner, the girl sees red.

She unleashes an ear-splitting shriek and charges at her target in a blind fury, discarding all rationality.

The District 7 boy is unfazed. He raises his arms, lifting the axe. As the weapon descends a second time, the girl's vision fades from crimson to black.

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><p><strong>End.<strong>

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: It's 1:15 AM - why do I always finish writing in the morning? xD I really think this turned out well. Review, please? ^-^

-EtherealPhoenix.


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